


14th pegasus moon

by blifuys



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Arguing, Blank Period (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Ferdibert Flashbang 2020, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Happy Ending, Injury Recovery, Letters, Love Confessions, M/M, Mentions of Black Eagles - Freeform, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Serious Injuries, Tea, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22796695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blifuys/pseuds/blifuys
Summary: All is fair in love and war, and for Ferdinand and Hubert, they do both. 5 years, 10 letters, and a love that transcends time.Ferdinand and Hubert's letters on Saint Oisin's Day, throughout the Great War of Liberation.Written for the Ferdibert Valentine's Flashbang!
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 12
Kudos: 164
Collections: Ferdibert Gang Valentine Flashbang





	14th pegasus moon

**Author's Note:**

> this is the 15th time ao3's notes function screwed up on me so i hope this shows up,
> 
> surprise SURPRISE! happy (late) valentine's day everyone, i have written something in collaboration with [beanyflavor](https://twitter.com/beanyflavor) for our special dumb boys!! (please go look at their art, it's PERFECT, it's so sweet!!)
> 
> [check out their GORGEOUS art here!!](https://twitter.com/beanyflavor/status/1229996643904299008?s=20)
> 
> as always: thank u to my beta reader Gyoomie bc she is badass
> 
> thank u to my vdayflashbang partner for being such a DREAM TO WORK WITH!! LOVE U GRACE!!! thank u to the organisers for having such an AMAZING event, and thanks to my wonderful friends for keeping me sane as i keep on writing!
> 
> and finally, thanks to YOU for reading. your love keeps us creators going, and i appreciate you so much <3

[Imperial Year 1181, 14th Pegasus Moon]

_The Marquis Vestra, Hubert_

_As per agreed at the Council meeting three days ago, I have allocated a portion of my men to the border along Arundel. I have received reports from Frank that there may be a slight shortage in non-perishables, and as such, I have added extra requests to the supply list for next week._

_Incidentally, as we speak, the 14_ _th_ _Pegasus Moon hangs high above us tonight. I am unsure if you are someone who sees to festivities (though, I am at least half-certain that you are not), happy Saint Oisin’s Day to you anyway. May Saint Oisin himself_ _finally_ _see to it that you find someone to fill that dreadful, soulless heart of yours. (Everyone deserves love, even you, Hubert!)_

_Warmest Regards,_

_Ferdinand von Aegir_

_\---_

In what Ferdinand considers to be heavy irony, the night that blankets over Garreg Mach is nothing but peaceful. The sky is clear, free of clouds, as millions of diamonds glimmer against the dark canvas. Clouds of hot air leave his lips with every exhale as he walks pass the sandstone buildings towering above his head, proud even in the dim light. It’s very cold tonight, as expected of the weather around this time of year.

Winter in Garreg Mach is colder than that in Aegir and Enbarr. They’re higher up in the mountains, close enough to dip their fingers into the starry night and swim through the clouds. The chill bites harder, the layers are thicker, and Ferdinand—oh, how he longs to feel the burn of the sun on his skin again, or feel the rush of the ocean through his hair.

Even still, if he could, Ferdinand would have chosen to have a cup of tea out on the bridge leading to the cathedral, as he lets his mind go of the burdens and worries that weighed heavy in his thoughts these days. He imagines the warmth of the cup in both his hands, hot tea rushing through his arteries and warming up his entire body—limb by limb. It’s peaceful, the thought of that makes him want to sink into a chair and forget the world in its entirety.

But who ever heard of peace during a war?

Saint Oisin’s Day is a product of irony. A celebration of love right in the middle of one of the most treacherous moons of the year, where the snow flurries like heavy rain and the mountains cap with white powder. There has never been a Saint Oisin’s Day in his life where he hasn’t gazed out the steel-framed windows of Aegir Manor, wondering silently to himself about the ones who have no love to speak of, the ones who return to barren frost coating the wooden walls of their homes.

Today is no different. He knows that the holiday will never be the same for many—those with loves lost to purgatory, to the realms where no one can ever tread.

He doesn’t allow himself to think too much—preferring to drown himself in the never-ending mental lists of what to do, when to do them, how to get them done and etcetera. It’s the only good thing about war, he supposes, that the never-ending fighting keeps him on his toes, enough for him to forget about the worries and running thoughts that sneak into consciousness every time he finds himself with a spare moment of silence.

There's one very important item on his agenda for the next few days. Discussed over a particularly difficult council meeting where no one seemed to be able to agree over anything, the Imperial forces had turned their sights toward expansion of territory. The question of whether they invade the Leicester Alliance first or the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus continues to be heavily debated among everyone in the Strike Force—half leaning towards the Alliance's instability as a crutch, and the other half deciding that decisive action against allies of the Church should be the way to go.

And Ferdinand? He hasn't made a decision yet.

There are many reasons for his silence on the matter, and Ferdinand brushes it off as the need to consider further before deciding on where to act next. It's an easy excuse, a simple and acceptable reason on why he had stayed mum on his thoughts while they discussed their next move in that large, musty room—unused for however long the Church had decided to keep that room shut off to everyone, students and faculty alike. The chair at the very end of the long tables had stayed unoccupied, a silent agreement that the sole person fit to occupy that seat was long gone to them.

But war didn't wait for the mourning, war didn't wait for anyone who had hope for their futures.

Ferdinand listens to the meditative rhythm of his steps along the stone floor of the second floor of the main building, pacing closer and closer to what was once Seteth's office. There had not been time for allocations to be made, and Hubert had taken the first office available that had the space and capacity to serve him well. It seems to serve its purpose, for every time Ferdinand made his way into Hubert's office, he swears the piles of paper grow bigger, the shadows against the wall stretching taller over his head.

And right in the middle of it all sits Hubert, curled over whatever document he was working on.

"Hubert von Vestra." He pushes the door open without knocking. "Did you not hear Edelgard tell you to get some rest?"

As expected, the figure hunched over the papers is almost immobile, no sign of life aside from the movement of his wrist as Hubert scribbles neat sentences across the parchment. There's no doubt that whatever's on the parchment is of the utmost importance, for Hubert never wastes his time. Hubert's every waking moment is dedicated to working as an extension of Edelgard's will, and this time is no exception.

“I don’t have time to argue with you today, Ferdinand,” Hubert simply says from his spot at his desk, curt and straightforward as always. “Unlike some people, I actually _do_ have things to attend to.”

“And I am telling you, it is time you _rested_.” It is clear that neither of them have the patience to indulge in each other tonight, whether from nerves from tomorrow’s intended invasion or something else. “It will not do either of us any good if you continuously work yourself into exhaustion.”

“Should that not be _my_ business?”

“Well it _would_ be, had you made proper decisions and taken particular care of your own wellbeing!”

The feather in Hubert’s hand stops quivering, and whatever Hubert’s writing stops mid-sentence as his sharp, pointed golden gaze directs itself at Ferdinand. His brow is furrowed, and the man does not look happy at all.

“I do not understand what _my_ welfare has anything to do with _you_ , Ferdinand. Don’t you have better things to do? Like spending your hours grooming your horses?”

His hostile words, dripping with venom in every syllable, twist Ferdinand the wrong way, his insults cutting deep like the cold blade of a knife against skin. It isn't as if Ferdinand doesn't have anything to do--each of the former Black Eagles has their own area to oversee, slowly easing themselves into their roles as generals and leaders in the conflict.

So Hubert's accusations—his rude and downright _cruel_ accusations—only push Ferdinand further into the ugly burn of irritation, as he wades further into the dark pool of self-doubt that had always been there, well-hidden behind white, toothy grins and loud proclamations of duty and nobility.

"Take that back," he mutters under his breath, his voice far from recognition to even himself. He hated hearing the low scratch of anger tinged in his words, as if simply being angry only proved Hubert right. "I do a lot more than horse husbandry. You can say many things to me, but I refuse to allow you to accuse me of laying on my back while we are in the middle of war."

"Then, pray tell, what constitutes your concern?" Hubert—no. Minister von Vestra utters, the mask of patience long gone. "You, of all people, should understand that I cannot afford to laze around and slow down. The professor is no longer with us. We cannot afford to fail in our war efforts—Lady Edelgard has given up far too much for her visions to fall short now."

"And you think I do not understand that, Hubert?" he very nearly shouts out of frustration. It would be fully uncouth of him to throw a tantrum in the middle of someone else's office, screaming at the top of his lungs like he really wanted to. He doesn't, of course, but there is only so much patience left in him, and more than anything Ferdinand wanted to grab the man by the lapels and shake sense into him.

"The Professor leaving us will hurt our efforts, that has been made very clear to all of us, Hubert. But should we lose you to something as preventable as simple fatigue—I do not think neither myself nor Edelgard could forgive ourselves."

Hubert's silence is indecipherable to Ferdinand, as is most of Hubert's expressions in general. He doesn't know if he's angered the dark-haired minister, already preparing himself for yet another poisonous attack from him.

But it doesn't come.

"I have a lot of work to do," Hubert says, but his quill stays noticeably still.

"At least take a break, a short tea break is enough."

"Sitting idle will not help our campaign progress."

"Then..." Ferdinand turns towards the side of the dark office, making a beeline for the tea kettle he's left in the room—having insisted that Hubert keep it so that he could be reminded to take regular breaks. "Speak to me of official matters over tea then. If you refuse to sleep, I insist you rest your hands for a short period of time, at least."

His hands find the tin he's looking for, and he's not surprised to see the seal on the lid untouched, left in its original state though he's put this container in Hubert's office close to a month ago. He huffs—how on earth could Hubert let such a perfectly good blend go untouched like this?—when he hears a chair scrape heavily against the plush, royal purple carpet laid out across the wooden floor. He looks up, feeling the ends of his hair tickle the base of his neck.

He's probably due for a haircut soon.

"I do not wish to drink any of that dreadful leaf water of yours. It does not have the kick I prefer."

But the lack of a direct objection already makes Ferdinand's heart swell with pride, pride that he's _finally_ won against the immovable Hubert von Vestra. His lips stretch across his face, uncontrollably happy as he prepares the perfect amount of tea leaves in the pot for brewing. He mentally lists out what he must do next—take the teapot down to the dining hall to fill up the porcelain with water, heat the vessel up with a basic fire spell, maybe find a few biscuits in the cupboards to complement the tea.

But overall, the thought of tea with Hubert makes him elated for some reason, but he doesn't think to exert any considerable effort to understand why.

"If that is the case, I will have to brew a pot of that disgusting bean water of yours, then. Do you have a preferred blend?" Ferdinand grimaces as he thinks of the bitter flavour in his mouth, shuddering when he remembers that Hubert, the vampire that he is, enjoys his coffee black, "Are you sure you don't want tea instead? Maybe it will assist in cleansing your body of toxins—your horrible attitude, perhaps?"

"Nonsense, tea does nothing for me. I would rather ingest poison than to subject myself willingly to it."

"With a snake as dreadful as you, I am not surprised at all to hear that."

Ferdinand feels a warm trickle down his spine when he hears Hubert laugh, the sound scratchy and low. He doesn't turn around to gaze at the horrid man, but his heart longs to see exactly what Hubert looks like when he laughs, when he smiles.

Maybe it's beautiful, like the sound of a waterfall in the night, calming and soothing to the soul.

\---

_General Aegir,_

_The additional forces have been received in Arundel, according to my sources. I have read through your requests in the supply list, and have allocated the appropriate funds and equipment where I could._

_Personally, I do not celebrate Saint Oisin's Day. It has never been a tradition in my family, nor has Lady Edelgard ever mentioned word of it. However, you wishing me as such tells me you do._

_Happy Saint Oisin's Day to you too, Ferdinand. Thank you for the coffee last night. Despite your incessant chatter making it difficult to fully focus on my work, the company was appreciated, and I found myself feeling much more relaxed after._

_Please see to it that you do not do it again._

_Regards,_

_Hubert von Vestra_

  
  


[Imperial Year 1182, 14th Pegasus Moon]

_The Marquis Vestra, Hubert von Vestra_

_Edelgard has informed me that House Gloucester has voluntarily sworn fealty to the Empire. They have conceded to our terms, and will thus wholeheartedly support Imperial forces in our war campaign._

_But you do not think I am that stupid, do you, Hubert?_

_I have no doubts that this sudden change of heart from House Gloucester has_ _everything_ _to do with you. How many letters and threats have you sent to neutral territories? Despite Edelgard’s insistence that you do not intervene or use underhanded methods in negotiations, you continue to do so, treasonous as your actions are._

_I do not think that I have any need to remind you of the precarious position you are placing us and Edelgard by acting against her orders. You should not be taking action and making decisions that were never yours to make._

_I trust that you, as the Minister of the Imperial Household, will choose to consider your position carefully and_ _appropriately_ _next time._

_Ferdinand von Aegir_

\---

Despite what Hubert thinks of him, Ferdinand truly does not have any spare time on his hands.

Perhaps it is a blessing in disguise that he does not have any lands to care for now, the legacy of Aegir only in his name. Perhaps it is a blessing that he has no official court title now, that his only power in the army lies in his duties as a general. He does not have time to do anything other than dedicate himself to the Empire’s cause.

He’s had to adjust his schedule accordingly—rise before dawn to tend to the horses at the stable, then retire deep into the night after finishing his never-ending stack of work. The lack of sleep does not add well to his overall demeanour; he finds his temper getting shorter and shorter as the days go by, a flame waiting to hit flashover as his irritation roars bigger in his chest.

But can anyone fault him for his anger? Day by day, paper after paper, the man’s tolerance for nonsense seems to be running out, even if it’s tolerance towards those he fights with—comrades on the battlefield, brothers and sisters in arms.

No? He didn’t think so.

He knows that Hubert thinks he’s wasting time being angry. He knows that this little cold war they have going on is impeding their progress, delaying their campaigns very slightly because of their lack of camaraderie. Surely, if Hubert had a moment in private with Ferdinand, the redhead would be told off and mocked. That all he was working off was his useless pride.

Well, Ferdinand has nothing left but “useless pride”.

War meetings are not his favourite. Their second year of war does not reveal an end in sight, and the hours of discussion only grow longer, their rest shorter, and more questions lingering in the air. Every session weighs heavy on Ferdinand’s mind—there are so many things that he has to do, that all of them must do. Even if it means bumping into the people he would rather die than meet, he must drag himself into the room and cooperate, lest their war proceedings get affected by petty squabbles.

Across the room, Hubert stands with Edelgard, peering over her shoulder at the parchment she holds in her crimson-gloved hand. The sight of him makes Ferdinand’s blood boil. It makes him want to grab his own sunset locks, rip them out in frustration and sheer _anger_. He can imagine it now, his hair—the longest it’s ever been in his entire life—strewn across the floor, as he melts down into his own rage.

He is a noble. _He is a noble._ He cannot act as he wishes.

Hubert looks up from his spot, and his gaze meets Ferdinand’s. His piercing eyes narrow, as if he’s seen something _disgusting_ , like dung on his shoe. It infuriates the redhead to no end, but he cannot lose his temper here, not in front of everyone.

Swallowing his desires whole, Ferdinand crosses his arms and balls his gloved hands into tight fists, turning his head away while he rolls his eyes. He will not give in to Hubert today, not now, not ever. The snake of a man can do whatever he wishes—all Ferdinand awaits is a heartfelt apology, counting down the moments until he’s proven _right_.

\---

_General Aegir,_

_I always consider my position with every factor. The choices I have made benefit the Empire. I have made myself clear, and I do not think it necessary to explain to you once again._

_I will always act in the name of Her Majesty,_ _and_ _keep her safety as my highest priority. You will prove yourself to be worthy of the title of Prime Minister once you see that impertinence has no place in her cabinet._

_Pardon me for this short reply. I am tied up with very important things, more important than appeasing a child’s tantrum._

_Hubert von Vestra_

  
  


[Imperial Year 1183, 14th Pegasus Moon]

_Hubert,_

_I write to you from the infirmary, informing you that I have woken up from my injury. Manuela will not allow me to leave her sight for a single moment, and thus I’ve had to resort to writing a letter, as a simple word from a messenger is simply too insincere for my liking._

_Regarding the last battle, I must chide you heavily for your utter carelessness. It is one thing to put yourself in the line of fire from enemy forces, it is another that you did so because you refused to ask for backup! You are one man, and no matter how much you love to pretend you are of vampiric birth, I must remind you that you are_ _a human man_.

 _Please take extra precaution that you shall never perform such a stunt ever again. In the heat of war, we absolutely cannot lose a single life in the strike force. We absolutely cannot lose_ _you_ _, Hubert._

_Please forgive my absence from any council meetings this week—have Bernadetta or even dear Dorothea send any urgent documents my way. I will join the force post-haste, after Manuela clears me for duty._

_Happy Saint Oisin’s Day,_

_Ferdinand von Aegir_

\---

Come Pegasus Moon, the continent of Fodlan finds itself blanketed in thick layers of snow—frosty white hiding the glaring red stains on the earth that war has left the continent in. Hubert has always found winter to be quite beautiful. It’s quiet, silent and peaceful, simplistic in nature.

This year, though, he can only wish for winter to end as soon as possible.

It’s no secret within the Empire that resources are dwindling. The original plan was to end fighting and have the Church surrender within two years, but humans—ever the rebellious bunch—are unpredictable in nature. Neither Edelgard nor he could have predicted that the Kingdom and Alliance would prove to be such difficult opponents, despite the foreseeable opposition against dismantling the Church and its central powers from the land.

It reflects in his reports every day. Reports of morale lowering, of lower performance, so much documentation proving that their soldiers wanted this hellish war to end soon. No longer did he hear the cheers of war’s beginning, where they were all determined to topple the religious hand that gripped Fodlan tightly.

Instead, he now hears cries, shouts and pleas to return to their wives and children—aging parents and lovers alike. He hears furious, frantic bemoaning to a Goddess that will never listen to the pleas of innocents, of the heavenly bodies that turn their back to the people. Every day is hard, even for Hubert himself. He had to admit that, despite his revulsion against feelings and sentiments of any kind, the constant bad news had affected him. 

Which is exactly why he’s making his way to the Infirmary, rushing as fast as he can—dropping everything the moment he received Ferdinand’s message.

The redheaded man, the _insufferable, nonsensical_ man had given him quite a scare in their last battle. He could still imagine it vividly, the smell of iron in the air, a crumpled body on the blood-soaked ground. For all Ferdinand is, he’s _noble_ , courageous to a fault.

Which is why Hubert doesn’t think he can forgive himself anytime soon.

It was an honest mistake, virtually impossible to prevent in the heat of battle. Before he had even realised what was going on, he had been cornered by too many soldiers—too many for a single mage to handle, no matter how proficient the skill.

—-

_His hands were tied up, palms stretched out far away from his body as magic shot through his fingertips and through the air. He could feel the pounding of his heart in every inch of his body—his chest, in his ears, his wrists. The adrenaline heated up his body like a matchstick in the cold Pegasus Moon air, blood staining the white of snow as far as the eyes could see._

_There was too much for him to focus on. Men surrounded him from all angles—lances, axes and swords raised high above their heads as they charged forward, aiming for Hubert’s blood on their metal. He waved his hand, summoning a ring of flames that burst upwards from the ground, licking the sky as the smell of burnt flesh mixed with blood._

_There was no allowance for failure on the battlefield. He couldn’t fall here._

_From the corner of his eye, he saw it—a flash of orange in the wind, reminiscent of the many sunsets he’s witnessed during his days in Garreg Mach, streaking across the sky as the days ended one by one. If he wasn’t so involved in his own battle, he would have taken a moment to observe Ferdinand at work, the way he bolted confidently across the field with his lance twinkling in his hand like a star._

_He didn’t know why he was there. He was not supposed to be, the Professor assigned him to the east, why was he—_

_“HUBERT!”_

_Ferdinand’s shout chilled him to the bone, his blood turning cold. It was uncharacteristic of him—hysterical, fearful, desperate—everything that Ferdinand was not. As he turned his head to catch a glance of what’s happening, he almost regretted not paying closer attention to his side, especially since he finally realised that he had been open all along._

_A fatal mistake._

_An arrow, drawn tight and aimed straight for Hubert. On normal days, he would have taken the sniper down without problem, since an attack from this range was child’s play to him. Looking back, Hubert would blame himself heavily for his mistakes leading up to this very moment._

_His hands couldn’t move away, not if he wanted to risk the frontal attacks that would surely come if he ceased his assault for even a few seconds. He was quite figuratively backed up against the wall, and for the first time in this entire war—in this entire campaign that he had sacrificed everything for in the name of Lady Edelgard—the thought of dying crossed his mind._

_He felt his fingers twitch. He was at his maximum capacity, no possibility of stopping the attack all by himself. All he could do was wait for the pain and deal with it after, as he usually did when he sustained injuries on the battlefield._

_But the pain never came._

_In place of a piercing wound in his side, a pained howl filled the air—and Hubert’s head snapped to the side to look. What caused such a horrific sound? Had someone fallen? Whose men?_

_His heart stopped when he saw Ferdinand, crumpled on the ground, an arrow stuck out of his abdomen as he laid on his side. The blood that began to pool on the ground was no doubt Aegir. He looked just like a broken doll, limbs splayed across the bloodstained soil, unmoving._

_It was too much. The feelings that twisted his gut like a knife were too much—and Hubert saw red._

_He did not remember much of what happened, only the lingering smell of burnt flesh on his clothes, and a desperate dash out of position as he made his way to the medics somewhere on the field. How many people had died in that moment? He didn’t care. A casualty was a casualty, but he could never pardon himself for failing to protect the life of a man who mattered so much to the Empire, to him._

_Which was why, staring down at Ferdinand’s lifeless body, he grieved._

_—-_

The redhead is not dead, to be clear. Hubert had thankfully made it in time to Linhardt, who had acted _so_ quickly that it almost gave Hubert whiplash to see the sleepy mage move that fast. But the way Ferdinand rests on the infirmary bed makes him sad, somehow. He wonders if things would have changed if he made it to his side a few seconds later, a timeline where even their mages could not have saved him.

A timeline where Ferdinand had not survived.

On the table beside him, a cloth lays open, the creases a sign that it was once folded. Leftover leaves are stuck in the cotton, a sleep-inducing herb of some sort. He will not be surprised if he learns that he’s worked with the agent once; his line of work requires extensive knowledge of medicine and poisons—enough to keep his liege safe for another day and their cause running like a well-oiled gear.

Hubert clenches his jaw. There is a ball of feelings in his chest that he cannot decode, not with any cipher in existence. He feels—he _feels—_

Anger. That such a _stupid_ stunt was played. That Ferdinand had almost thrown away his useless life for a man like Hubert. That he had left formation, that—

He will scold Ferdinand for that later.

The man takes a seat beside the bed, watching the resting body. He watches Ferdinand’s chest rise and fall, the small signs of life that Hubert now knows he must cherish, because war could take any one of them next. It could be his liege, it could be him, it could be anyone for the cruel hands of fate to choose—and _flames_ , he is not ready for any one of them to go before their mission is complete.

Ferdinand’s hair obscures a bit of his freckled face. It’s been too long since he’s had the chance to have a haircut, his hair brushing past his shoulders. He normally keeps it tied up when he’s working, and it’s rare to see it down like this. For once, while he’s not gesticulating wildly or being outright _annoying_ , he looks beautiful. Like a peaceful, sleeping forest nymph, the ones Lady Edelgard used to read about in her storybooks as a child, long before the incident happened.

Long before their youth was burned to a crisp, leaving nothing but ashes and vengeance behind.

Hubert slips his fingers under strands of long, silky hair, tucking them behind Ferdinand’s ear. The silence in the room will not wake him for a while, and there is a lot to be done. He cannot afford to stay here. He cannot afford to linger.

The door closes minutes later, and Hubert walks down the length of hallway towards his destination. His ribcage echoes with his pounding heart, and all he can do to stop it is to _ignore it_ —along with the feeling that something important has just been sown into his heart, something unstoppable.

\---

_Ferdinand,_

_Your theatrics have gotten you hurt one too many times. This time, your naivete and utterly blind faith landed you in the infirmary – on my behalf, no less. I will personally take responsibility for your injury – it was a large oversight on my part that could have led to your death. I make no apology for my recklessness, for it was the largest chance of victory I had calculated then. However, make no mistake - I am thankful that you are safe and alive._

_You say that the strike force cannot lose me. Turn that advice towards yourself, and understand on a deeper level that your role in the council – in the army as General Aegir - is just as important._

_I will come to see you tomorrow morning. Please listen well and heed Manuela’s instructions for medication to ensure the fastest recovery._

_Happy Saint Oisin’s Day to you too, Ferdinand. May you find the happiness you so deserve._

_Well wishes,_

_Hubert_

[Imperial Year 1184, 14th Pegasus Moon]

_Hubert,_

_I request your presence post-haste._

_Ferdinand_

_\---_

Between them both, there are many communication channels set in stone, making contact exceedingly easy. It’s compulsory, of course, since Ferdinand had slowly eased himself into a major playing role of overseeing a large percentile of their armed forces. Gone are the days of Ferdinand von Aegir proclaiming his future title as Prime Minister like a deserved birthright, instead replaced by his actions proving him to be the perfect candidate for the job.

That is, if the war would end soon.

The war is only two moons shy of its fourth anniversary, a year or two off their intended duration of two to three years. As a result, Hubert has had to spend a lot more time working in the confines of his office, his nose buried in papers at any given moment, and there haven’t been many chances for him to have tea with Ferdinand, unfortunately. Not that it should be a cause for concern—every day is a new day for them to turn the tides of conflict over in their favour, and so every day, they fight on.

So when Hubert receives a letter from one of his _spies_ no less, he has to presume that what Ferdinand had requested his presence for was of utmost importance.

He walks the long expanse of hallway on the second floor towards Ferdinand’s room. These days, it seems that they’ve become a bit more comfortable with each other—willing to sit down and simply spend time together as _acquaintances_ , as compared to mere colleagues. They chat over meals, banter over papers and plans, and share silent moments together as they walk through Garreg Mach—the place they had conquered _together_ . It feels very strange that for once in Hubert’s life, there is someone willing to spend time getting to know him—to dive deep and _change_ him for the better.

They still fight, of course. Little tiffs over ideological discrepancies cannot be avoided, but he can’t help but enjoy the way they fight for the better now, agreeing to disagree when they can’t see eye to eye and giving each other’s opinions the utmost respect.

He’s tired. For once, he can surely admit to himself that he’s fatigued. Hubert does not need as much sleep as the average person; he’s found that he can function quite well with three hours clocked in per night. These days, however, his sleep has been reduced, having shared Lady Edelgard’s burden in keeping things optimized _. A necessary sacrifice,_ he had told her when she asked him to retire early to bed, _I am more needed here than anywhere else._

Because of such a necessary change in schedule, he’s seen less of his tea time companion recently, only exchanging greetings when their mealtimes overlap and bidding each other good night on the rare occasions that they bump into each other in the dormitory hallways, shrouded in the dark long after the candles have been put out. It is indeed a shame. He has taken to enjoying their time together, talking about anything that comes to mind.

And—dare he admit it?—he misses their tea and coffee sessions too.

The thought of seeing Ferdinand again, for some reason, leaves a weird nagging in his mind as if there is something he’s overlooking, something he’s not quite understood just yet.

He knocks on the oak door leading to Ferdinand’s room, just a door away from his own seldom-used quarters.

“Ferdinand,” Hubert calls out, tucking one hand behind his back out of habit as he raps his gloved knuckles against the wood. “It’s me.”

“Come in!” The voice is muffled, beckoning the taller man in with its melodic lilt.

He does not know what he’s expecting, but he surely did not expect to find his acquaintance glaring at him from his desk, as if his tea had been brewed the wrong way today. Hubert cannot help but raise a brow in silent questioning, to which Ferdinand replies with an exasperated huff.

“It has come to my attention...” Ferdinand leans his elbows on the wood of his desk—covered in parchment, it seems that he’s working on something at the moment—and interlocks his fingers together, tilting his head back in an attempt to look serious _._ “...that you have not slept in at least five days. And that is at _minimum_. Am I correct to say?”

Oh boy.

“Ferdinand, is this what you used my network for?” Hubert holds back the impulse to roll his eyes, for the other man would surely start pouting once he does so. “You could have just come to my office.”

“And have you ignore me because of paperwork? No, I think not. This _is_ of the highest importance, Hubert.” Ferdinand leans back in his chair, brow pinched in the middle and his lips downturned in disapproval. “It involves one of the Emperor’s most crucial cabinet members.”

“I am a fully-grown man.”

“A fully-grown man who needs a nanny.”

“I am busy.”

“So am I.”

Hubert heaves a sigh of frustration— _exasperation,_ really—as he reaches up to pinch his nose bridge. As he closes his eyes, he is suddenly made aware of the burning sensation behind his lids, and the ache that seems to have settled in his shoulders, down his back, and in his arms.

When—over the past week or so—had he become so fatigued?

“Ferdinand, as much as I am appreciative of your concern, how does my sleeping schedule involve you?” Hubert asks, tired eyes warily watching the stubborn, upset man who puffs up like a jellyfish when he pouts. “There shouldn’t be a reason why this issue is a priority of yours.”

“You want to know _why,_ Hubert? Oh, I thought you would never ask.” Ferdinand seems to grow even more upset at his innocent question, standing up from his desk and taking three heavy steps towards him, footsteps vibrating through the floorboards. “For a man of your caliber, you are _frustratingly_ stupid, do you know that?”

“No,” Hubert deadpans, crossing his own arms as he begins to feel the seeds of irritation sow in his mind. He has better, more important things to do besides getting caught up in an argument now, the leftovers of the document he’s _supposed_ to be working on running through his thoughts. “I still do not understand what—”

Before he can finish his sentence, a hand—so warm and _tender—_ gently cups his cheek, cradling his head so delicately. A thumb brushes over his cheekbone, and it costs Hubert an excruciating amount of effort to keep himself from grabbing that hand and burrowing further into that rough, calloused palm.

“You are an idiot,” Ferdinand says, looking up at Hubert with wide, caring eyes. When had he stepped so close? The man reminds him of the sun teetering off the edge of the world very, very slowly, of pine tea in the evenings and earl grey in the mornings and wind in his hair. “It is because I _care_ about you.”

“You… care about me?” He will blame this on the sleep deprivation later, but he feels his face contort in response to the shock he feels. Hubert has never once felt the concern of another who is not Lady Edelgard. His liege will not caress him so, will not pressure him to do _better_ in a hushed, low rumble. It feels strange, but oh, does he crave. How he thirsts for more.

How he hungers to feel the rays of the sun on his skin.

“Is that so hard to fathom, dear Hubert?” Ferdinand chuckles, lips curling up as those freckles get pulled along with his smile. “I _do_ care about you, you know. You are very special to me.”

The man draws a curve on Hubert’s cheek, as if tracing smiles into his face would make Hubert a lot less stressed and tense. It’s stupid, _he’s stupid,_ but heaven knows that Hubert has lost his immunity to Ferdinand a very, very long time ago.

His frame deflates, his tired bones going pliant as he decides to give in. Ferdinand would surely not stop his nagging if he refused, so for their sakes, Hubert thinks it is best for him to cave in to the proverbial giant, lest he get overwhelmed by his energy and fire.

“Fine. I’ll sleep later,” Hubert offers, because he knows that there are still things waiting for him. A million and one issues sit on his desk, patient for their turn. He had surely wasted too much time here in Ferdinand’s quarters, and yet, he couldn’t say he disliked it, not in good faith. “I’ll retire to bed at the appropriate hour.”

“Oh, _no_ , I cannot trust that you will, _Minister von Vestra_ ,” Ferdinand smiles, his hand leaving his cheek as it draws itself downward to his chest. He settles his hand right over where his heart should be, and he brushes _something_ off his clothes that Hubert can’t quite see—dust? Lint? He doesn’t know. “Come. I have a perfectly good bed here. Rest your head for an hour or two, then I will let you leave my room without objection.”

“I can very easily warp out of here, you know.”

“I know.”

Hubert rolls his eyes. It is evident that there is no leaving this room—not while Ferdinand is here, homed in on Hubert like a hawk to its prey. Resigning to his fate, he begins to unbuckle the straps holding his cape down, turning away so that he could prepare adequately for a nap.

“I have many things to do right now, Ferdinand,” he mutters, but he surprises himself when he finds that his voice holds no bite to it. “War waits for no one.”

“Again, you are not the vampire you like to think you are, Hubert.” Ferdinand chuckles, flipping open blankets to reveal the white cotton mattress underneath. It looks soft, welcoming even, and Hubert suddenly feels weighed down, his limbs heavy and lethargic like he has sandbags attached to them.

He replies with a simple grunt, placing his cloak over the back of the wooden chair at the desk, vacated now that Ferdinand seems to have found something more important to tend to. He reaches down to unbuckle the clasps on his boots before easing his feet out of them, one after the other. On the carpet, he wiggles his socked-toes, feeling like he’s been liberated for the first time in a while.

With a tired sigh of resignation, Hubert begins to ease himself into the bed, almost pleased to find that just like its owner, Ferdinand’s bed carries a faint scent of roses and soap. He sinks into the softness, noting the difference between this bed and the one back in his room. It’s softer, warmer, worn-in over the four years they’ve been at Garreg Mach.

It’s nice.

Like a spell cast over him, Hubert’s eyes grow heavier by the second, the lull of sleep overcoming his body as he finally allows himself to relax.

“Comfortable?” Ferdinand asks while he pulls the thick duvet over his body, tucking him in properly like a caterpillar cocooned. He’s swaddled in the softest sheets, the warmest feeling, and he truly cannot help but wish to feel like this always—safe and carefree.

In his sleepy stupor, a passing thought crosses his tired mind—that Hubert, as shrewd and careful as he is, is in trouble. He’s been played this entire time, slowly being drawn closer to Ferdinand like a moth to a flame. At this point in the game, however, he cannot find it in him to protest or retaliate. He can only sink further into this abyss, unsure of where it’ll lead him.

“Haha, I knew you were tired, Hubert.” Ferdinand chuckles softly as he sits beside him on the bed, the mattress sinking a little under their combined weight. Slowly, those warm, comforting fingers reach up to his face, pushing locks of dark hair out of his face. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay here.”

Exhausted eyes flutter shut, waves of sleep washing over his body as he’s tugged deeper into the darkness, allowing himself to finally get some rest. A hand strokes over his forehead, rhythm hypnotic and warmth establishing security in him. He knows that he’ll have to make up for his delay in workload later on, but it doesn’t matter for now.

In a minute or two, Hubert drifts off into sleep, thinking of sunsets and sunrises, of gentle touches and eyes that shine with adoration.

\---

_Ferdinand,_

_When I awoke, it seems that you’ve already left to attend some matters in my stead. Thank you for your kindness—I seem to be saying that to you more often than ever, as of late—and I will surely repay you in the future._

_It pains me so to admit this, but it seems that sleep was what I desperately needed. Once I received adequate rest, I was able to focus better and get more done. (And yes. I do feel much better. Please wipe the smirk of triumph off your face, being right for once in your life does not warrant such overreaction.)_

_If it helps you to rest your worrisome head better, I will take better care of my health. I will_ _attempt to_ _schedule regular rest into my agenda so that you do not have to take time out of your day to bother with me. There are better things for you to do, Ferdinand. You should not be taking time out of your day to play nanny with me._

_Hubert_

[Imperial Year 1185, 14th Pegasus Moon]

_Hubert,_

_As soon as you catch the opportunity to leave tonight’s festivities, please meet me at the Goddess Tower._

_Ferdinand_

\---

A night of celebration, in Ferdinand’s opinion, has been long due. They’ve been fighting for almost five years now, five hellish years of pain and suffering—of skirmishing with former allies and enemies alike. On the battlefield, they are all the same—people against the Empire’s cause and ambition.

It is Ferdinand’s duty to assist. Yes, he has lost everything. Yes, he has nothing but his name to live for anymore, now that the fertile, fresh lands of Aegir have long been seceded to the Empire and her Majesty. And yet, and yet…

More than his duty as nobility, more than his promise to protect the needy, it seems that his reasons for staying by the Empire’s side leans towards personal, where emotions hold much more weight than simple objectivity alone.

He stands in the Goddess Tower, leaning over the balcony at the top as he tilts his head up to the sky. Usually, he would have a gorgeous view of Fodlan from where he’s standing, greenery blanketing the horizon as it stretches out as far as he can imagine. The oceans of Adrestia are a little too far away for him to see from here, but if he thinks hard enough about the salty tang in the air and the roar of the waves crashing against sandy shores, he thinks he can satiate his homesickness, just a little.

Goddess. He can’t even begin to imagine how Petra feels, being so far away from home for this long.

Five years ago, he wouldn’t even have thought about it—for the Ferdinand von Aegir of years past did not have friends. He’s never had them, and he truly couldn’t fault those who looked at him in disdain, who turned their nose at him for being _too much_ . He didn’t think he’d have them—people of all shapes and sizes, all with their unique stories of origin, coming together and forming unbreakable bonds with each other—becoming his _family_. He had expected a lot to come out of this war: liberation, victory, reformation and the like, but he had never expected to gain sisters and brothers through it all.

No. That’s not completely true.

The stars wink down at him in their glee, as if teasing him for what he had set out to do tonight. He frowns a bit as he feels his cheeks heat up in the middle of this wintery night, getting a little flustered just thinking about it.

There is one man amongst the lot that he doesn’t have a label for, too close to be simple friends yet not quite like family, either. Hubert is a man of many things—he is frustratingly stubborn, the owner of a tongue dipped in poison, and far more simple-minded than he takes himself to be.

But Ferdinand adores every single bit of him, the good and the bad. He relishes the time they share together. At some point, Ferdinand realises that he and Hubert have found comfort in each other, ever since they began to sit together in one corner of the monastery, going over their own respective piles of work in companionable silence.

It’s nice, comforting really, to know that he doesn’t have to carry conversations with Hubert. They could sit together in silence for hours on end, their eyes meeting every now and then whenever they look up from their paperwork, curious to check on how the other is doing. Their routine is so practiced, like a choreographed ballroom dance for only them two, keeping each other close as they push and pull.

That is why he’s so worried. That is why Ferdinand wonders if he’s overlooked something, or that he’s completely misinterpreted their bond.

Hubert is loyal. He is loyal—almost to a fault—to Edelgard, his fealty sworn to the powerful woman in the dawn of his adolescence. In the chaos of Ferdinand’s mind, he can’t help but wonder if he’s been wrong all along, his worry only growing more and more frantic every time he sees the Emperor and her retainer together, hunched over a single document and their faces barely a hair’s length apart.

He wonders if Hubert has tea with Edelgard. He wonders if they sit together in his office, silently curled against each other while their eyes scan over loopy handwriting on parchment, sharing their warmth in the deep of winter as they fight tirelessly against the forces that oppose them.

The image turns his stomach upset down, an unpleasant tug making his heart sink.

Before his mind can run free like a horse galloping through an open meadow, he hears someone clear their throat behind him, and he very nearly jumps out of his skin from the shock alone.

“ _Argh_ —” He turns around quickly, his bare hands grabbing the cold balcony railing and his eyes snapping open with a start as he looks towards the origin of the sound. From the shadows, he sees him, the silhouette of a man who likes vampire novels a little too much—so much so that he’s even begun to lurk in the dark like one. He heaves a sigh of relief once he realises it’s Hubert, shoulders sinking as he relaxes his grip. The stone is freezing. It leaves a slight sting on his hands, causing him to pull away.

“Jumpy, are we? Best you keep away from that, or a _scary_ divine beast might cause you to fall to your death.” Hubert smirks, but nothing about his expression hints at aggression. These days, his smirks are warm, full of endearment, and Ferdinand hadn’t been careful enough to learn how to swim through the depths of emotion before he had fallen deep in love with the frustrating man.

Curse the matters of the heart.

“I _wish_ you wouldn’t sneak up on me like that,” Ferdinand grumbles as he steps away from the balcony and back into the safe confines of the room, moonlight streaming through the opening behind him. “I could have died an early death because of a scare-induced heart attack, you know.”

“That _would_ be a shame, yes,” Hubert chuckles under his breath, raspy tone making the redhead’s heart do cartwheels in his chest. “I wouldn’t be able to find out what you need from me if you did.”

“Ah, yes, _that_ ,” Ferdinand mumbles, looking away. Truthfully, in that moment where the stars witnessed his sentimental reminiscing, he had forgotten that he had asked for Hubert tonight, drawing him away from the celebrations taking place in the dining hall. “I did not think you would come.”

“I might not have, a few years ago,” Hubert hums. “But here I am.”

He feels a little guilty for dragging Hubert all the way out here. The Emperor’s retainer could use some company, more time to bond with their peers and allies alike. Tonight is special, special enough for them to withdraw extra perishables from the stores to throw a feast for their army. There hasn’t been a holiday in years that would earn this type of mood from them all, not until pale green hair and eyes emerged from the afterlife and returned to their side—sword in hand and ready to finish this war once and for all.

It is unfortunate they couldn’t have ended this without the professor’s aid. Deep inside, Ferdinand feels ashamed that he wasn’t enough to assist Edelgard and Hubert across the finish line, ashamed that his strength was inadequate for victory.

Suddenly, he feels like he’s no longer on the same playing field.

What reason did he have to think that Hubert would love him back? Nothing he ever does seems to be enough for approval, with every single policy he suggests meeting some kind of debate or opposition from Hubert. Till this day, even if they _had_ grown closer, Hubert continues to stand in Edelgard’s shadow, ready to act on her behalf should the need arise.

He’s miscalculated this entirely. He’s wrong. Once more, Ferdinand’s been left in the dust, alone with no one by his side.

“I… Well, there was no reason to—I… Well…” the redhead stutters, swallowing down the painful feeling in his throat as he puts his hands behind him, trying to hide his trembling. The chill in his fingertips begins to spread to the rest of his hands, and somehow, down to his ankles and toes. “You should return, Hubert. I should not have called you out alone.”

“And why not, Ferdinand?” Hubert suddenly steps forward, closing the gap between them. His body is so close, the subtle heat radiating off Hubert. It flusters him to no end, and he thinks he might faint—having nowhere to run or hide from this hole he’s dug himself into.

But did he really want to lose what he had?

It took them so much time, so many long _years_ for them to be where they are now—cordial and friendly. He doesn’t think he wants to go back to glares and venom, spikes and shattered glass. It’ll break his heart too much, shatter him to the point of no recovery, an injury from the only man he’s ever loved with every fiber of his being.

No. He did not want to lose this. He could not.

But Hubert has always been smart. He does not let anything out of his sight, sinking his talons in like an Adrestian Eagle swooping down to catch its prey. Those beautiful, iridescent eyes narrow at Ferdinand, silently questioning the sudden cold feet.

“You might be angry after I tell you what plagues my mind.”

“Do you have evidence for that?”

“Well—”

“Then how do you know?”

“Hubert—”

“Tell me.”

Ferdinand draws a deep breath in. There’s no going back, now that they’re both in the tower _alone_ . What a shame that he had to go and get his heart broken in the place where the promised make their vows of love, whispers of _I will never leave_ into red ears.

“I—” He steels himself, closing his eyes, too fearful to watch Hubert’s face turn with displeasure. “I am in love with you, Hubert.”

Silence.

“I know, I _know_ you cannot accept me. There is another one in your heart, is there not? I would not dare intrude upon that sacred place of yours. It is not my right to do so.”

Ferdinand’s hands curl up at his sides into fists, trembling a little. A telltale ache stings behind his closed lids, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe, heavy emotion bubbling over in his chest. His silence is all he needs to know that Hubert does not love him the way he does. He mourns—mourns for the loss of a friendship, a love’s farewell, too young and immature to live.

He lowers his head in defeat, unwilling to allow Hubert to see his face, _whatever_ expression he’s making.

“Truthfully,” Ferdinand forces himself to speak, his throat closing up from the burn. His voice is choked up, but he powers on, unwilling to let this end on such an ugly note. “I always knew that you were a little bit in love with Edelgard. That’s why I know you cannot accept me. The way you look at her is so _bright_ , I’m beginning to think I know what jealousy feels like.” He chuckles, bitter.

“I know there’s no one else that can compare to her, Hubert. But please, I—”

“You are right.”

Ferdinand’s whole world cracks, and he thinks he can see the shards drop, one by one, smashing onto the brick floor. He does not dare speak any further.

“You are right, in that sense.” Hubert’s voice is confident. It does not waver, and it only breaks Ferdinand’s heart from how deeply in love he seems to be with Edelgard. He squeezes his eyes shut a little tighter, halting the tears. He will not cry, he will not cry, _he will_ not _cry—_

“But at the same time, there is no one else that can compare to _you_ , my dearest Ferdinand.”

The redhead’s eyes snap open wide. Is he hearing things? Is he hallucinating? The tears leak out from the corners of his eyes, even after he had tried so, so hard to keep them under control.

Hubert smiles. It’s the first time Ferdinand’s ever seen the man smile like this, so warmly, so openly, in complete adoration. He’s never seen him smile at Edelgard like this before, never with so much _love_ that the man could muster in a single expression alone. It warms his heart to the very core, and yet…

He’s confused.

Hubert’s smile softens, reaching his own gloved hands down to Ferdinand’s side. His fingers gently snake into the gaps of Ferdinand’s hand, silently asking him to _relax_ , to trust him, to listen to what he had to say. He takes the other into his own, holding both of them firmly—yet gently—and Ferdinand realises how _perfect_ they are. His own thicker, stronger hands return the grip, a perfect contrast to Hubert’s steady and lithe hold, his hands a little larger than Ferdinand’s.

“I am not in love with Lady Edelgard. I am in love with _you_.”

It should be impossible. He thinks that he should react like Hubert’s playing a prank on him, that at any moment the man would drop the act and hiss his disgust at him, but it never comes. Hubert still smiles at him, never once breaking eye contact.

Ferdinand thinks he might actually burst into tears.

“I feared that you would not return my feelings.” He bites his lower lip. “I have wondered for the longest time if I’ve made a horrible mistake, that I have perceived our bond wrongly. Now I wonder if I have miscalculated.”

“You were always a bit off the mark, yes,” Hubert laughs, the raspy chuckle tickling his ears again, so pleasant and soothing like a warm cup of tea in the dead of the winter. “A small miscalculation is not uncharacteristic of you. You were always too sentimental to see things as they are, even if they were right under your nose.”

“Stop your insults for once, Hubert!” Ferdinand frowns, his lips pursed into a pout. He should have _known_ Hubert would take the chance to throw in a diss or two, petty comments a large feature of their banter. But he’s not angry—not at all. Why would he be, now that he knows that the man he loves returns his feelings, that he’s loved in return, possibly with just as much intensity? “You have an eternity to bully me. Why not lay down our traps for once and enjoy the moment?”

“I daresay that I agree with you.” Hubert chuckles, and he draws Ferdinand nearer, enough for their chests to touch. Ferdinand’s hands are warm, steamy now. He feels no chill, immune to winter and the devastating feelings the cold cloak of snow brings with it. His heart pounds steadily, so full that it almost hurts, the smile that pulls at his lips already making his cheeks ache. “I should claim an apology from you.”

“From me? What have _I_ done?”

“Sly little fox. You know _exactly_ what you’ve done. Sneaking past my defences like that and claiming my heart as yours. Theft is a crime, General Aegir.” Hubert chuckles, and Ferdinand grins.

“ _Really_ now? And what is the sentence you have chosen for my rehabilitation?” he asks, but he knows what Hubert wants. He lets go of Hubert’s hands and reaches out, arms snaking around the taller man’s neck to pull him down to his height. Their noses brush together, luminous green and honey brown eyes gazing deeply into each other.

“It seems you know already.” Hubert wraps his arms around Ferdinand, and the redhead notices his tongue peek out, swiping quickly over his lips. There’s a thumping between them, and whether it’s Ferdinand’s heartbeat or Hubert’s, he will never know. “Let’s get to it, shall we?”

“Who would have known that _the_ Minister von Vestra lacks patience?”

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

Ferdinand laughs and tilts his head back, closing the space between them.

The moon shines bright above Garreg Mach, unobscured by the clouds that normally loomed over the area. In the Goddess Tower, a silent promise between two lovers is set in stone, tying their fates together and binding their hearts forever.

\---

_Ferdinand,_

_I will get straight to the point._

_As a reminder of our rendezvous tonight, please allow me to court you properly._

_Hubert_

[Imperial Year 1186, 14th Pegasus Moon]

Deep in the Imperial Castle sits an Emperor.

Her dress flows down to the carpeted floor, like a crimson waterfall of blood. The Imperial Cloak trails off her shoulders as the eagle’s emblem proudly shows itself to the world, and the gold embellishments sparkle in the light, brighter on the side that faces the sunlit window. Her hair contrasts the fire on her body, icy white dipping down to her back as her companion brushes out her silky locks, gentle strokes untangling any knot that might have settled in her hair.

It is a fine day today.

Last night’s blizzard has finally stopped, leaving crystalline white powder covering the grand whites and creams of the palace exterior. She thinks the snow looks _beautiful_ , like little pearls sparkling in the sunlight. The sky is blue and bright, and if her watchtower is correct, there will not be a single chance of hail or snow today.

The woman behind her sighs happily as she works on her hair, gentle on the tangles with her practiced hands.

“Their luck is _so_ good. I wanna get married on a beautiful day like this too.” Dorothea pouts gently in the mirror, Edelgard watching her from her spot on her dresser chair. The white-haired woman chuckles, frankly elated that such a grand event is taking place today, only mere hours from now.

“I can’t say for certain that none of us thought they would choose _today_ , of all days, to hold their wedding.” She smiles when Dorothea shakes her head, emerald-green eyes meeting lilac purple in the mirror.

“Nonsense, Edie. Ferdie _loves_ romantic symbolism!”

There is only a little time left before the grand ceremony happens. Enbarr’s largest ballroom is currently decorated from top to bottom with specially curated silks and the finest furniture the Imperial inventory has in store. Edelgard had personally seen to the decor, after all, even if her loyal liege had asked her not to.

She isn’t attending the wedding as a boss or a leader today, no _._ Edelgard plans to make her appearance as _family_ , to witness the men she loves the most finally get their happy ending.

“I was shocked at how _fast_ Hubie was, though. I don’t think anybody expected a proposal _this_ early after the war!” Dorothea places the brush down, her hands hovering over the box of hair embellishments she is planning to pin into Edelgard’s hair. Edelgard, in turn, has full trust in her companion, knowing that she would be treated with the highest quality of care.

It is Hubert’s job, self-appointed, to style Edelgard’s hair. Today is special, of course, and the Marquis had to fight tooth and nail with Dorothea for the job of Edelgard’s appearance at his wedding.

And, surprising to many, Dorothea managed to win by a long shot.

“I wasn’t. I was the one who encouraged it. Very nearly gave an official order for him to do it, too.” The brunette laughs at Edelgard’s admission, twisting her hair into something elaborate, moreso that anything Hubert’s ever done before.

“Aw, you shouldn’t intervene so much, Edie. Let things go their natural path, you know? Though… It was really cute, from what I heard. Proposing during a long walk on the beach? _Oh_ , how romantic—who knew that Hubert had such an eye for romance, though?”

“He doesn’t.” It’s Edelgard’s turn to laugh now. “I’ve seen him labour over romance novels from the library. I’m surprised he didn’t ask _you_ for advice, seeing how you have the most experience out of all of us.”

“I think he did, in a very roundabout way. Pretended to be interested in a script I was practicing a few months ago, and asked me some questions about my play.”

“Sounds like Hubert, alright.”

“Right?”

Edelgard’s eyes wander over an open envelope on her dresser. The paper is cream, the wax seal broken in half where the letter opened. Next to it, the golden clock slowly ticks, and she realises that the minute hand is not where she thought it would be.

“Oh dear, look at the time. We are going to be late—we should go now, Dorothea.”

The brunette adjusts the final pin in silvery-white locks before she glances at the clock herself. Edelgard thinks that Dorothea looks _gorgeous_ today, a maroon dress dipping down to her ankles, the cut of the clothing accentuating her—um— _assets_ in a way that makes her look _stunning_. The Emperor looks away with heated cheeks.

“Oh, _shoot_ , alright Edie. Let’s go!”

\---

_Her Imperial Majesty, Edelgard von Hresvelg,_

_The Prime Minister decided that it would be better for me to inform you of this instead of him. As such, forgive me for my supposed lack of enthusiasm, as Ferdinand would say. I am in disbelief myself, so this letter will sound fully disjointed from my slight slip of composure._

_This morning, I asked Ferdinand for his hand in marriage._

_I will not bore you with details, but I did it during a walk along the beach. I did not plan it so, but the weight in my pocket finally seemed too much to bear. I daresay that this is the most nervous I’ve been in my entire life._

_Moving on, we have decided to tie the knot. I have yet to tell him of my decision, but I am considering having our ceremony take place on Saint Oisin’s Day. I am not one for theatrics, and I would much rather do it simple. But this is a wedding—I think it would make Ferdinand very happy to have a day to remember._

_Look at me—sentimental already, and I have yet to be a married man._

_Truthfully, I have never considered marriage for myself. For most of my life, I have dedicated myself to you, my liege. But as you and Ferdinand have taught me, life certainly takes you onto paths one would never dream to tread upon. Fate has brought me into matrimony, and I have to fully admit that I am content with it._

_I have a request to make, my lady._

_I would like you to give me away at the altar._

_Your role in my life so far has been the greatest, Lady Edelgard. And I only hope that you will take upon the greatest task of sending me into the next chapter of my life—as family. It may be quite insubordinate of me to ask this of you, but it would do me great happiness to have you by my side._

_I understand if the answer may take a while, but there is no rush. I appreciate it all the same._

_I hope you have a good morning, my Lady. I will be out attending to official business today, and will return by sunset. Do inform me if you require my presence at any time, I will come at your summon._

_The Marquis Vestra, Hubert von Vestra_

**Author's Note:**

> ferdinand: HUBERT COME AND KISS ME
> 
> hubert: ... ok
> 
> [i accept all screaming here](https://twitter.com/nekohmy)


End file.
